The Long Road
by Oulie
Summary: No real summary, it's a WIP. That's about it. Read on to find out. . .


Title: 'Flat on the Floor' Chapter One of the 'The Long Road' series.

Author: MeL (The Dark Avenger)

Author's Note: I hope you readers like this, it's something that came to me while I was sitting around doing nothing. So it's definitely a WORK IN PROGRESS! Understand that peoples. As all of my other stories are WIP. Please review people. I'm working on Chapter 2 now. So I'm hoping to have that up soon.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters I might use from the world of Mutant Enemy. Joss does. I also don't own any of the Nickelback lyrics.

I've spent so much time alone by myself in this house that I've learnt to live without certain people in my life. Sure it'd be nice to have some company in this place, but I'd rather be alone here than with 'him'. The 'him' being my father - Hank Summers: 43, a widow and hates the very sight of me, his own daughter. Ever since my Mom died four years ago, he's barely been in the house and when he is, he spends his time drinking and abusing me, both verbally and physically. And somehow I manage through it. There's been a few times where it could have been possible that I may never have woken up – that he would have come home to my dead body in the house. But I did, and when I did, two days later, he was gone. Some 'business' trip I'm sure. Off with some woman, not even half of what my mother was, from his office. But there was no note, no message left on the answering machine, not even a missed call on his daughter's cell phone – to make it look like he cared. Not when he's out having the time of his life at parties and having his way with the first pretty girl he can get his hands on. But I have no need for him in my life anymore. . . .

* * *

He's home again, making my life hell, no, you know what, hell's probably a walk in the park compared to all the shit he puts me through. He wasn't inside the front door for two seconds before he bellowed my name and summoned me downstairs. It was less than two seconds after that that he had a drink in his hand and not long after that that he managed to consume the entire bottle of scotch. It was before that however, that he started attacking me verbally and only a few glasses in that he gave me my first bruise since his return. He goes by the rule that there's always room for 'one more' whether it be 'one more drink' or what those drinks turn into for me 'one more being yelled at' or 'one more bruise or black eye' It's time like these I wonder what my mother ever saw in him, and then I realize that he was never like this before she got sick and died. It was her death that set off his drunken ways. It's the only thing I'll ever hold against my mother. Is him. . .

* * *

He's been home longer this time than he has in ages. I haven't been able to go anywhere for two days straight due to the big bruise I have on my face that just matches with the others that I have on the rest of my body. I can cover the up though, the ones on my body, they're the easily fixed ones. It's a bit harder to walk into first period Math with sunglasses on, and a hat that covers as much of my face as it does my head. The teachers and my friends would no doubt get on the suspicious side of things. So I have to make up some lame excuse that will get me out of school for a couple of days, usually some mystery illness that just happens to miraculously disappear the instant the bruises on my face do, and I'm free to leave the house.

I walk down the stairs from my room to find him sitting on the couch – drink in one hand, TV remote in the other. A typical Saturday morning in the Summers' house. Saturday being the weekend, and meaning that he doesn't have to get up and go to work, he can just sit in that damn recliner and drink his weekend away. I've decided that I can't spend my weekend cooped up in my room, under the same roof as him, while I wait for my next bruise, which will come, I know it. Not after the last one has finally healed enough so that if I put enough makeup on it, it conceals it nicely. I rang Willow and we're going to meet at the library. Neural territory and I can catch up on all the stuff I missed at school. I tell him I'm going out to the library to meet Willow. He grunts at me, it's all he can manage and he doesn't even try to stand up, for the fact that he'd only und up flat on the floor. . .


End file.
